


The Mysterious Mr Shaitana

by NB_Cecil



Category: Agatha Christie's Poirot (TV)
Genre: 1930s Gay Culture, 1930s London, Bars and Pubs, But I fixed it so that’s OK, Cards on the Table (episode), Coming Out, Cross-Dressing Character, Dating, Drag, First Dates, First Kiss, Kinda amazed there aren’t any Shaitana fic here really, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Other, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Slash, Relationship Negotiation, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-12 05:22:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20993522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NB_Cecil/pseuds/NB_Cecil
Summary: Some backstory to the episodeCards on the Table. More about those photographs of Superintendent Wheeler and a bit of backstory for Mr Shaitana and Wheeler’s relationship.Wheeler, a cross-dresser, is the “Doreen” mentioned in the reports of the 1934 trial of the proprietors and customers of legendary London gay bar the Caravan Club. She and Mr Shaitana continue their evening back at Shaitaina’s townhouse after the club closes for the night.





	The Mysterious Mr Shaitana

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first _Poirot_ fic and _Cards on the Table_ is the only episode I’ve ever watched all the way through, so you may have to forgive some glaring errors and omissions.

It was late when they left the club, Doreen turning up the fur collar of her coat against the summer breeze and the gaze of passers-by. Her companion, a tall fellow with a wide-brimmed felt hat pulled low over his eyes flagged down a passing motor cab. He whispered something in her ear as he helped her into the taxi, making her blush and giggle coquettishly in response. 

“She’s away tonight visiting her sister,” Doreen said as she settled into the seat. 

“In that case...” Her companion grinned lasciviously, “...Park Place, Mayfair, please driver.”

“Right-o guv’nor,” Came the reply. 

The maid greeted them at the door to the townhouse with a curtsey, a stifled yawn and a “Good evening, Mr Shaitana and Miss...? Mr...?”

“_Miss_ Wheeler,” Shaitana corrected. “Miss Doreen Wheeler.” He handed his hat and cane over to the girl and shrugged off his coat. “Please hang up our coats, Polly, then you may go to bed.” 

“Thank you, Sir.” The maid took their coats and bustled off.

Doreen self-consciously adjusted the neckline of her dress and peered round the spacious entrance hall. She made decent money in her job as a police superintendent, was used to mixing with people of all social classes, and she and her family lived a comfortable life in a nice, four-bedroom house in Dulwich, but this was a cut above the places she usually had cause to visit in her work and social life, and she suddenly felt under-dressed in her evening gown bought from a discreet East-End tailor’s shop amongst the fine furniture gathered from far-flung points of the globe.

She had met the mysterious Mr Shaitana two months previously at “bohemian” basement club, similar to the newly-opened Caravan Club where they had spent this evening. She had been sitting quietly at a corner table, watching the dancing, nursing the dregs of a martini, and trying to slow her racing heart at the thrill of excitement-laced-with-terror at venturing outside the house wearing a dress and makeup for the first time, when a tall, immaculately-dressed man slid into the empty seat opposite with a smile that made his eyes sparkle and an offer to “buy a beautiful lady a drink”. Since then they had been on weekly dates, Doreen’s confidence in her new role growing under Shaitana’s guidance through subtle compliments (_I do like the colour of your lipstick tonight, my dear, it brings out your eyes._) and suggestions (_Darling, you should visit _Liberty’s_. They stock the most exquisite evening gloves._), along with her friendship circle of likeminded people—every time they walked down a set of steep steps into a basement bar, Shaitana seemed to know everyone there and enjoyed showing her off.

Before now, Doreen hadn’t given much thought to Shaitana’s life outside their weekly dates. He had masterfully steered the topic of conversation away from himself, focussing instead on society gossip and Doreen herself. Beyond passing mentions of his interest in photography, collecting art and antiques, and various countries he had lived in, she knew nothing about him—not even his first name—and she hadn’t given any thought to what his home might be like until she stepped foot over the threshold. She certainly hadn’t expected anything so lavish and, well... exotic. She was staring round in wonder when Shaitana touched he elbow, making her jump, and suggested they move to the drawing room.

“My dear Doreen, you look quite ravishing tonight.” Shaitana beamed, leaning in to brush a stray lock of hair from her wig out of her face as he lit her cigarette.

She blushed and took a deep drag on the cigarette. “You do say such nice things,” She replied. 

“I only say what is true,” He scooted closer on the sofa and ran a finger down her cheek, eyes lingering on her face. “I’m a keen amateur photographer. I specialise in portraiture,” He gestured to a large portrait of himself hanging on the opposite wall, “And I believe you would make a most fascinating subject.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that!” Doreen exclaimed, clutching protectively at the neck of her dress. 

Shaitana, concerned that she may burn something with her flailing, gently took the cigarette holder from Doreen’s fingers and set it down safely in an ashtray. “I wouldn’t ask you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with, my dear. I have a very discreet friend who runs a studio in Soho who processes my prints. They wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands,” He reassured her. “But do think over my proposition, and _should_ you wish to sit for me I would be delighted.”

He lent in close again, tracing a finger along her jawline and across her upper lip. Doreen flinched at the attention to this area of her face. “Do you think I should shave it off?” She asked.

“Not unless you want to,” Shaitana replied. “It gives you a certain charm. I like it.” 

Doreen blushed again at the compliment and began mumbling a deflection, but was cut off by Shaitana’s kiss.

When they broke for air, Shaitana looked at her with an expression of awe and a twinkle in his eye. “I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks.” He said.

“I couldn’t kiss you in the club, I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be.” 

“It’s just that...” Doreen fumbled. “My wife... and I’d lose my job... and—.”

Shaitana placed a reassuring hand on her thigh. “I understand the need for discretion, Doreen. It would be bad for us both if we were caught up in a scandal.”

“It would.” Doreen swallowed hard, feeling panicked at the thought of her secret being exposed. “Mr Shaitana?” She placed her hand on his chest. “Would you please kiss me again?”  


“Of course, my dear.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Comments and kudos are love <3  
I’m leaving this as a one-shot for now, but I would like to have a go a writing their photo shoot at some point, so I *may* add another chapter. Hit subscribe if you want to know if/when I get around to that.


End file.
